


After

by lillypillylies



Category: Miss Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 17:54:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29229564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lillypillylies/pseuds/lillypillylies
Summary: It was so good, and Wato was so grateful to have it all back, that it was easier not to talk about what had happened.
Relationships: Sherlock | Futaba Sara Shelly/Tachibana Wato
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	After

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phraseme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phraseme/gifts).



> Just a little glimpse of how things might be for them, after the events of the finale. Hope you enjoy this, Phrasme!

"You're having bad dreams," Sherlock said. 

Wato tried to smile, and failed. Her cup settled back in its saucer with an unpleasant clink. 

"Third cup this morning," Sherlock said. A glance at the offending cup of coffee. "Dark marks under the eyes. I hear you up in the middle of the night. And your hair."

"What about my hair?"

Sherlock reached for her head. Wato ducked away, hands flying up to protect her perfectly normal ponytail. 

"My hair is fine."

"Don't you think I'm a better judge?"

"No." After a brief pause Sherlock's outstretched hand fell away. Wato sighed and made a second attempt at that smile, doing just a bit better. "What has this got to do with nightmares? I'm just a little tired."

"I know, Wato." 

They didn't say anything more about it. They went about the rest of the day as they always did, just as Wato preferred.

It was difficult to talk about. Everything that had happened... It had been like this since that day at the river. After the crying, and the questions, and throwing herself at Sherlock because she was alive and clinging to her there on the sidewalk uncaring who saw, unable to do anything but press her face into Sherlock's chest and hold on - _I thought you might want to hit me, Sherlock had said, but no no never, she would never hurt Sherlock, never never never_ -

After Sherlock had stepped back and, referring to the luggage Wato had packed when leaving their little house forever, said _good, you're ready, let's go_. 

After they had left Tokyo because it was only sensible when Sherlock was supposed to be dead and it would be awkward for her to resume her former life so soon and there were plenty of mysteries to be solved in other places, after all.

Well, since all of that Wato had been following Sherlock around from place to place. There did indeed seem to be mysteries to solve anywhere they ended up. There was always something that caught Sherlock's interest, something to investigate and puzzle out and discover. 

It was like being on holiday, except with more stolen property, missing people, and the occasional dead body.

It was good. It was so good, and Wato was so grateful to have it all back, that it was just easier not to talk any of the things _before_. But still Wato couldn't sleep. And if Sherlock heard her up in the night it was only because she was up, too.

And she watched Wato with guilt in her eyes, not disguised well enough for Wato not to see it and understand. Sherlock felt responsible and Wato knew and she hated it - but couldn't tell her to stop. Couldn't tell her that if anyone should feel guilty it was _her_ , not Sherlock.

That night Wato woke with a start, her heart racing, but for once it was not from a dream. 

Someone was there, kneeling beside her sleeping mat, and her more sluggish brain caught up with her panic then and oh. All right. It was all right. It was only Sherlock.

"What is it?"

"You say my name, Wato," Sherlock said. 

"Eh?" She was still half asleep, and it didn't make sense.

"That is the last clue, I didn't mention it before. You have bad dreams and call for me."

"I don't -"

"So what should I do?" Sherlock's voice sounded strange in the dark. She sounded uncertain - Sherlock, who was never uncertain about anything. "Should I go away? Would you be better without me? Should I have stayed dead? I wonder sometimes if that's so."

Wato stared up at her but it was too dark, it was as difficult to see her as it was to understand. "Have you been drinking? Did you take something?"

"No. Should I?"

"No. And you shouldn't ask such things. Why - why would it be better if we were separated again?"

"That is the question, Wato."

Wato continued to stare into the dark. It was a familiar sight. Perhaps it was time to say these things after all. "My dreams are of terrible things."

"It happens, with such trauma."

"There was trauma before, too. Now, it's always the same, my dreams never differ. I lose you one way or another. I always lose you, and it's always my fault. Don't you dare suggest you should go anywhere without me. What good could it do me to lose you again?"

There was a long silence. Wato could only hear her own breathing. She was clutching her blanket under her chin while Sherlock remained a looming figure at her side in the near pitch black of the room. 

The sound that broke the silence was a laugh. Sherlock was laughing.

"What?"

"It's too humorous. I dream the same thing, Wato. Hah."

So Sherlock dreamed of losing her, too. "Why is that funny?" she demanded.

"It is, if you consider the fact that we are both right here."

"I suppose the trauma response isn't logical enough for you."

"Logic, yes. The solution is clear."

"Drugs?" Wato guessed.

"I suggested a separation. But the logical course of action is the opposite of that. We should be closer."

"What?"

"Remember when we met at the riverside?"

Her heart was pounding suddenly. Sherlock was moving. Lying down beside her.

"I have only one question, Wato."

"Eh?" she squeaked.

"Will you share your blanket, or should I bring my own?"

"Wh-"

"You should really be more generous." Sherlock grabbed the blanket and yanked it over herself.

"Hey!"

There was a brief tousle. Wato was not sure who ended up winning. Sherlock had technically more of the blanket but her arms were looped so firmly around Wato that she felt nothing but warmth. It felt a bit like winning, like an achievement, unexpected but satisfying.

Sherlock's chin was pressed into the curve of Wato's neck, her breath was on Wato's cheek. She could feel the whisper of it with every word Sherlock spoke. "Will it be enough," Sherlock wondered. "Will you believe I'm here for good?"

"I stopped trusting you once. I won't make that mistake again."

Sherlock's arms tightened around her. "There are always new mistakes to be made. Just as there are always ways to be closer. Wato. Your heart is racing." She slid her hand up to press against Wato's chest, between her breasts. "Is this enough?"

"I don't know."

"Think. It's an important question."

Sherlock, ever impatient, frustrated Wato as always. The importance of her, of this, of them, didn't change that. 

Impulsively Wato turned her face enough that her lips touched Sherlock, brushing her jaw, a wisp of her hair, her cheek. Their noses bumped. Wato did it again, more deliberately, her lips pressing gently against what was probably the edge of Sherlock's mouth. 

For now, it was close enough.

"Go to sleep, Sherlock," she said.


End file.
